


Luck of the Draw

by EA_Lakambini



Series: Orbital Resonance: GOC2020 [9]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Good Omens Celebration 2020, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Insecure Crowley (Good Omens), Love, Love Notes, M/M, Married Life, Romance, Self-Doubt, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, reassurance, they just love each other so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:20:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24085759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EA_Lakambini/pseuds/EA_Lakambini
Summary: Crowley sometimes doubts why Aziraphale loves him. The angel has many reasons why, and he finds a way to make sure Crowley finds them, and understands.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Orbital Resonance: GOC2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725724
Comments: 26
Kudos: 121
Collections: Good Omens Celebration





	Luck of the Draw

**Author's Note:**

> Just an unapologetically sweet and fluffy thing, because how can you NOT, with these two in a cottage together?
> 
> Prompt: doubt.

“Aziraphale, sometimes I wonder if you really want me,” Crowley says slowly. His shoulders are curled in on himself, and he cannot meet Aziraphale’s worried gaze. Aziraphale reaches over and twines their fingers together. “My darling, what would ever make you think of such a thing?”

Crowley sighs as he leans back on the headboard of their bed. “I mean, look at you, angel. You’re lovely and heavenly and perfect, and I’m… this. Fallen. Damned. I guess it was just the luck of the draw that I was the one assigned to earth, and that you didn’t smite me at first glance.” Aziraphale opens his mouth to interrupt, but stops himself when he sees that Crowley isn’t done talking.

“Did you end up with me just because I was the only one still around after six thousand years? It’s not like you had a lot of options for eternal companionship, Aziraphale. How one pitiful lovesick excuse for a demon was preferable to Heaven, I don’t think I’ll ever know; I just wish I could deserve it, deserve _you_ ,” Crowley mutters, his voice cracking slightly, and Aziraphale’s heart aches at the uncertainty he hears. He pulls Crowley closer to him, gently lifting his chin up so he can look at him directly.

“Crowley, you mean more to me than anything else, more than anything this universe could offer,” Aziraphale says quietly but firmly, looking deeply into the demon’s eyes. “I love you dearly, and I do wish I could show you that I’m here with you now because I _choose_ to be; luck had nothing to do with it, not after the first day we met. You’ve given me so many reasons to stay.”

The worried expression in Crowley’s eyes softens slightly, and he sighs, tucking his head under Aziraphale’s chin. “ ‘M being stupid, I’m sorry,” he whispers against Aziraphale’s neck.

“Go on to sleep, my love,” Aziraphale says gently, pressing a soft kiss into the demon’s hair. “Things will look better in the morning.” He waits for Crowley’s breathing to become slow and even, before he gets up and exits the bedroom. There is something important he has to do for his husband.

*~*~*~*~*

The next morning, Crowley enters the kitchen to prepare his morning coffee. He still feels out of sorts, but he figures the routine would help him get over his pathetic little episode last night. He goes through the motions methodically. Then, he sees something sticking out from beneath the bag of coffee beans.

A… playing card? Crowley blinks at it sleepily for a while – he _hasn’t_ had his caffeine fix yet, after all – and recognizes it as one from the set of cards that Aziraphale uses for his magic tricks.

 _He was probably trying some new trick or other then got distracted by sweets, no doubt,_ he thinks fondly to himself as he turns the card over. Then he stops as he sees, written across the card’s surface, words in Aziraphale’s looping handwriting.

_The way you prepare hot water for my tea while you’re making your morning coffee._

Sure enough, Crowley had already set out the angel’s white winged mug, next to his own dark one.

“Angel?” Crowley calls out, uncertain, but his heart is filling with warmth. Aziraphale is usually in his study in the mornings, but sometimes the angel pops out to purchase some pastries from the bakery down the street. The house is silent, and so Crowley sits at the kitchen and savors his coffee, while turning the playing card over and over in his fingers.

He heads back up to their bedroom, and suddenly notices another card, tucked under his sunglasses on the bedside table. _Those beautiful eyes. Like liquid gold. I feel warm just thinking about them._ Crowley smiles and places this card next to the first. He leaves his sunglasses.

Crowley blushes slightly at the next card he finds, lying on top of one of the pillows on their bed. _That thing you do with your tongue (you know what I’m talking about)._ He laughs to himself, while stacking the cards in his hands: a growing pile, growing along with the fondness in his chest.

Crowley continues to walk, the initial worries and fears banished from his mind. He reaches out with his senses to feel for the angel, and feels little pinpricks of angelic grace scattered around the rooms of their home, like heavenly fingerprints. He seeks them out, like the snake he is, seeking the warmth of Aziraphale’s loving glow.

Next to the gramophone in the sitting area. _That silly dance you tried to teach me, the one from the ‘70s (thinking of it never fails to make me laugh, and then it makes me miss you)._

Wedged in a bookshelf in the study. _The gentle way you handle my books. I know you don’t appreciate them the way I do, but I see you treat them with care all the same._

On the dining table. _You have never let me want for anything, now that I think about it. I mean, you stopped all of time for me, and even after all of that, you still paid for my ice cream._

Attached to the refrigerator door with a duck-shaped magnet. _You do more than humor me; you join me in the things I enjoy. I’m not sure how much you like feeding the ducks, truly, but I appreciate that you feed them with me (even if you nearly drowned one before)._

On top of his gardening shears. _How beautiful our little garden has become, under your “care”. (I scarcely can call it caring, but we cannot deny the results.) What you’ve made here is more beautiful than Eden._

Tucked just so in the glass cover of the old grandfather clock. _You are so patient with me. Would anyone else have waited as long and as lovingly as you have?_

Stuck to the door frame. _You rescue me – from discorporation, from fear, from my own incorrect understandings and misgivings._

The cards continue to fill up in his hands as he wanders around their house, and Crowley can’t stop smiling.

 _How your hair looks like fire when you’re watching the sunset from our kitchen window. You make the most delicious crepes (so I finally have another place to get decent ones; I know you learned how to make them for me). How you kiss me good morning, and good night too. The extra marshmallows that you put in my cup of cocoa. The amazing feel of your skin on mine. We have never had a boring conversation, not once in 6,000 years (I really_ do _like you, so much)._

And so many more. Crowley shuffles them in his hands, his eyes welling up with affection for his partner.

At the side table near the cottage door, under a framed photo of the two of them, Crowley finds one more. _How well we fit together. I am certain that the curves of me were meant to fit the planes of you._

He can’t stand it anymore; he has to go and find and hold his angel – his beautiful, affectionate, expressive angel, who loves humanity and books and pastries and old music and silly magic tricks, and somehow still loves Crowley too.

*~*~*~*~*

Crowley eventually finds Aziraphale standing in the garden, his hair almost golden-white under the streaming sunshine. He is holding one last playing card. Crowley rushes to the angel, enfolding him in a long-limbed embrace, before pressing a passionate kiss to his lips. Aziraphale caresses Crowley’s cheek with a warm hand. “Are you still wondering why, my love?” he asks Crowley gently. “Because I have multiple decks of cards; I will have no difficulty filling them all up.” Crowley feels his throat closing up with unshed tears, and he could feel the sheer _love_ between them, almost overwhelming him.

“Test your luck, step right up; pick a card, any card,” Aziraphale suddenly says in his stage magician’s voice, filling the silence, and Crowley laughs.

Crowley shakes his head, his heart filled with affection, beating firmly – too fast and overeager and entirely belonging to the angel in his arms. “Aziraphale… you know I love you too, don’t you?” The angel does not reply, simply kisses him softly, whispering something that feels like _yes_ and _I know you_ against his lips.

Aziraphale hands over the last playing card. Crowley breaks off the kiss just long enough to read – _you are my home_ – then tucks the card in his pocket. “Always, angel.”

Aziraphale smiles, so bright and beautiful and happy, and Crowley is content.

**Author's Note:**

> I love how they love each other. :)
> 
> Thanks for dropping by!


End file.
